Time Begins Again
by supertom
Summary: Harry Potter's life was taken from him. Everything he loved was stripped away by a cruel and ignorant government. Now, he has achieved what few others have and time will begin again. Powerful!Harry/Timetravel!/Multi-partners!
1. Chapter 1

_****_**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does.**

**A/N: This is a story from my first account. I abandoned it about a year ago, but decided to give it another shot. Since taking care of my health issues, I've recently regained the momentum to write it. The pairings will be a secret, but Harry will have multiple partners.  
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_**Time Begins Again**_

**Chapter One**

Harry Potter looked up at Number 4 Privet Drive. Had it really been that long since he had left? Almost a century ago? So much had changed the last time he had looked on the neatly manicured yard and perfectly painted shutters. He had been an exile, an outlaw against the newly established Ministry of Magic led by Lord Voldemort. He had left the only blood family he knew as a burdened and troubled fugitive. He had never looked back. There was no sorrow in his leaving. If anything he had been happy to leave the Dursleys even if it meant abandoning them to their fates against Voldemort. He stood before the house with little doubt that today would be the only time he ever visited Privet Drive again.

"Harry, its time," said a gentle voice behind him.

He turned to look at a smiling Luna Lovegood. She was, as usual, completely stunning. Sometimes when he looked at her, he found himself breathless; though, that reaction had very little to do with her looks. While she was very beautiful with pale blonde hair, crystal clear blue eyes, and flawless ivory skin, the most stunning thing was her raw magical power. The aura around her was enough to make most human witches and wizards dizzy or even unconscious. She was not known as the Fire Princess of Aramoir for nothing.

"Yes," Harry replied. "I suppose we have no choice but to begin this horrid task."

Luna's smile never faltered. "We always have a choice Harry," she countered. "This is just the one we like the best." A grimace flickered across Harry's face. "Ok, fine. This is the choice I like the best. You are just the silly male that came along for the ride."

He rolled his eyes and started walking across the lawn to the front door. Luna was an idealist and her ideals usually clashed with Harry's more negative takes on reality. He didn't consider himself a pessimist really. He was just a realist with an acute connection to death and chaos. That didn't make him negative, just cautious. He laughed a bit to himself; he was very cautious. When you teetered on the brink of death as many times as he had, you either became very cautious or an alcoholic.

Luna caught on to his quiet laugh as she knocked on the door to Number 4. "How many times have I asked you not to laugh to yourself? You will damage your hearing."

He stared back at her incredulously, the door forgotten. "Luna, how does laughing to myself damage my hearing?" he asked, but she did not have a chance to reply.

The door to Number 4 opened slowly. "Yes?" an elderly woman asked, not bothering with a typical greeting. The woman in front of him was tall and held the air of reserved dignity as if Harry and Luna were not worth her time. That dignity faltered when she laid eyes on the tell-tale scar resting on Harry's forehead. "My God," she muttered breathlessly. "Harry?"

Harry was too shocked to respond. Standing in front of him was his Aunt Petunia. Surely he was seeing things. She did not look a day over seventy, but that could not be possible. She would have to be at least 140 by now. The woman, clearly shocked as well, stepped back to allow him and Luna inside. He took the invitation, openly gaping at his aunt.

"Good evening Mrs. Dursley," Luna said as she skipped by unfazed. Harry had never really seen her unfazed. She was always just loony.

Harry walked into the house. It had not changed. Despite all the modern appliances and entertainment items, the house still had the same familiar tidiness. It brought back several unpleasant memories. He closed his eyes, calming himself. He had learned long ago to contain his emotions. His brilliant green eyes looked back at Aunt Petunia. Tears were brimming her eyes.

"How are you Aunt?" he asked not really caring. What he really wanted to ask was not the politest question, and he wanted this to remain as polite and civil as possible. After all, social etiquette, even at the worst of times, must always be observed.

Petunia Dursley stared back at her nephew. Tears were freely flowing down both cheeks despite her eyes being as wide as saucers. Harry was slightly amused. She answered him softly, "I am alive."

"Uncle Vernon and Dudley?" he asked.

"Vernon died eighty years ago," she said with a sad frown. "Dudley is alive and well. He suffers from my condition."

Luna spoke before he could. "What condition?" she asked with as much innocence as a she could manage. When you have wiped out an entire sentient race, there was just not that much innocence left in you. Luna, however, was a refreshing enigma. Even when she faced off against the most horrifying enemies, she appeared ignorantly innocent.

"Come and let's sit," Petunia replied without answering. She led them into the living area where there were two wingback recliners and a large sofa. A coffee table sat between all three pieces of furniture. An ancient LCD flat screen television hung on the far wall. It was clear his aunt enjoyed antiques.

She beckoned for them to sit down as she took a seat in one of the green recliners. They both sat on the similar colored sofa. Aunt Petunia let out a long sigh before speaking. "The condition is that we don't have enough magic. I believe you would call us squibs. We have enough for long lives but not enough to be actual witches and wizards. As you might have guessed, I am 143. I do not feel older than fifty though I look seventy. Dudley is 125; he looks forty. He moved to America when he graduated University."

It made sense to him. He had discovered long ago that his mother's family had actually been a long line of squibs. His mother had been the first full witch in seven generations. "When did you discover this?"

"When Vernon died," she replied. Fresh tears came to her eyes and she shook a little. "Harry, I am so sorry for everything we put you through," she said with a desperate, pleading look.

He stared at his aunt. They had practically tortured him for almost sixteen years. Hogwarts had been his only escape from their emotional and verbal abuse and now she wanted his forgiveness? How could she dare even ask? It had taken him thirty years and painful soul rituals to undo the damage their abuse had done to his magical core. The Dursleys were the closest thing to pure evil in a mortal he had ever encountered. Even Voldemort had not gone after children.

His magic had become visibly noticeable as he glared at Petunia's pleading, guilt-ridden face. Furious sparks of red jumped between his fingers, fueled by his aunt having the audacity to dare and ask for his forgiveness. He felt a hand rub his arm slightly. "Harry," Luna said, sending calming magics through her voice and hand. He looked at her and instantly reigned in the dangerous energy around him. It had been sixty years since he had lost control like that. The last time he did, he burned down half of Knockturn Alley. Luna had not been there to stop him. The consequences had been much worse.

"Had anyone else just tried that, I would have killed them," he told Luna in a low, dangerous voice. It carried the hint of a threat, but his friend ignored it. She knew he would never hurt her.

"Then I guess we are lucky it was me," she replied with a large grin.

He held his glare for a moment but gave up when Luna's grin didn't falter. Harry looked back at his aunt, once again in control of his emotions. "Aunt Petunia, you abused me and mentally tortured me for years. There is no way I could ever forget the damage you did." He sighed and rubbed his face. He could feel a headache starting to grow. "I can, however, forgive you; though, that will take a great deal of work on your part. Even so, we are not here to discuss forgiveness with you."

She nodded her head in acceptance. It had been a long shot to hope for his forgiveness, but she had thought maybe a hundred years had helped to pave the road to redemption. He was offering her more than she had a right to expect. "What is it you need from me?"

"To be honest, nothing. I had no idea that you would be here. I came to visit the cupboard," he said glancing towards the hallway. "We are hoping to discover something that will fix a bit of a problem we are having."

Petunia gave him a puzzled look. He saw something in her eyes that resembled something close to genuine concern. "What kind of problem?" she asked.

The last thing he wanted to do was consult Petunia Dursley on an issue of magical importance. Luna, however, had a way of always doing that exact opposite of what he intended. "We accidentally caused a magical plague that wiped out seventy-five percent of British mortal magic users. Or Harry did at least."

Harry groaned out loud. He really did not want that getting out. They were wanted by the International Crime Task Force. This was not something you broadcast to everyone who asked.

"How did you do that?" his aunt asked. She had completely forgotten their previous conversation.

"He-" Luna started, but Harry cut her off with a wandless silencing charm. She threw it off with barely a thought. "Was that really necessary?"

"I will tell the story," he said with a glare. "It is mine to tell you know. Obviously, you talk too much as it is." He waited for her to say more. She stuck her tongue out at him instead. "Besides, I believe you might lack the maturity for this story."

He did not wait for her reply. "You must understand that there are four kinds of magic. Well, there are theoretically five, but no one has ever been able to actually channel draconic magic. The four known types are natural, demonic, mortal and soul/death magic. An entire different area of power exist known as Holy energy, but to perform that, one can have no connection to any of the magical forms.

"Wizards primarily use mortal magic; it is channeled through the body. Dwarves, Lycans, and goblins use this magic. Its power is restricted to a person's magical core. It is, therefore, considered the weakest form of magic.," he said. He almost laughed at Aunt Petunia's look. To her, there was no such thing as weak magic. In truth, most wizards and witches, much less muggles and squibs, had no their magics were compared to the larger magical community.

"Natural magic is the ability to interact with and meld with the elements. This kind of magic has little boundaries as it is only restricted by which element the being melding with it chooses. Elves and fae are the main users of Natural Magic. Humans usually do not as any non-organic substance in the body seriously disrupts the flow of the element. Luna is one of the few mortals to be able to do it. She is a fire elemental." Luna was grinning ear to ear as Petunia looked at her in awe. She made flames jump between her fingers, and his aunt's eyes almost bulged out of her head.

"Stop showing off," he said only half-caring. He had seen the witch do much more. She allowed the fire to fade away. She rested her hand in her lap and smiled back at him sweetly. "As I was saying," he continued, "elemental magic is on par with demonic magic in raw power, but because of the time the rituals take, it is much more restrictive. Voldemort was an extremely powerful practitioner of demonic sorcery.

"The most powerful form is the rarest and is almost impossible to perform as you have to have died to be able to do so. Vampires and dementors, with one exception, are the only known practitioners of death magic. If one is strong enough, like the older magical vampires are, one can gain immortality through it. Death magic, sometimes called soul magic, literally feeds of the energy of the living and the dead. The potential is almost endless through it is a fairly recent discovery as the Vampire Lords are very secretive about the art," Harry finished. Petunia looked as though she were going to scream every time he said vampire.

"Vampire!" Luna yelled. She burst out in hysterical laughter when Petunia let out a squel of fear. "You should have seen your face!" she managed to get out through the giggles.

Harry glared at her, and she quickly sucked in air, trying to control her laughter. It was useless. "Why do I still take you anywhere?" he asked her, annoyance clear on his face. He was not amused.

Luna spread her hands apart and leaned back in the corner of the sofa. She placed her feet in his lap, making her tight dress appear even tighter. "Because, lover, I am extremely sexy." It was true. Being so strong in natural magic, her body was constantly regenerated, similar to the high elves. She barely looked twenty five.

Harry shoved her legs off him. He stood up and walked to the front window. He peaked around the curtains. Once certain they were not followed, he continued, "Lord Voldemort, as I said, was a powerful practitioner of Demonic magic. He conducted many rituals to gain power and lengthen his life. One of these rituals left a lasting effect. Though I did not know it, his body was a ticking time-bomb. When I killed him, a deadly virus escaped his body that targeted the magical core of mortal wizards. The virus slowly ate away at their cores until there was none left and the user became magicless.

"By this time, the government has become much more organized. The entire magical society has changed over the past several decades. When the Dark Lord Voldemort was defeated, it was clear the wizarding world had to enter into modern times. We left our medieval culture behind to embrace the technologies made popular by you muggles. Our community was suddenly centralized and globally organized into a massive association. While this may seem like a good thing, the public was blaming the new government for the problems it now faced. In order to establish a more perfect union they investigated me," he said with a disgusted look. "Of course it was a sham. From the beginning, it was their intention to make me a scapegoat.

"After the healers found the cure, it was determined I had caused the catastrophe. Despite the fact I had lost my wife and children to the plague, they arrested me and sentenced me to life in Azkaban. In way, they did me a favor. It is there I discovered my unique gift and escaped," he finished. His eyes stared at the wall though they were not looking at anything in particular. He had a faraway look that made Petunia think he was lost in painful memories.

She watched her nephew carefully. How could she have treated him so badly for so many years? She and Vernon had thought they were standing up for what was natural, but it was clear she had been wrong. In front of her, after being out of her life for almost a century, he had returned to her. He was powerful; of that, she had no doubt. "I thought your wizard's prison could not be escaped from."

Harry smiled at the memory. It had been eighty years since he escaped Azkaban and threw the wizarding world into a storm of shock and awe. For seventy years they hunted him to no avail. Thankfully, the elves had welcomed him in their realm. He had lived with them, carefully researching how to solve his problem. He had nothing to lose; he had lost it all. It was in the Elven realm he had reunited with Luna. At first they were mourning lovers comforted by the shelter of each others arms. It was Luna who had helped him restore his dementor ravaged magical core and helped him discover the extent of his new powers.

"I escaped because they did not expect my abilities," he finally answered. It was true. No mortal should have been able to channel the power he could. "I am the only human death mage. Though, at this point you could not accurately call me human. Instead of robbing me of my magic, the souls captured by the dementors only increased it exponentially. Eventually they became my minions instead of the Ministry's. They aided me in my escape."

"So what did you want here?" Petunia asked them.

"Harry has the ability to alter his soul and draw on the energies of both the living and the dead. We hope, through a ritual involving his childhood home, he will be able to move his soul back in time," Luna answered as if time travel and soul magic were two of the most normal things in the world. "We have the power to do it. We just don't know if it's actually possible."

Petunia sighed. She owed him that much; it was the least she could do for them. Maybe Harry could make a difference for everyone. "How far back will you go?" she asked.

Harry answered this time. "We do not know. We only know it should be sometime before I was eleven."

She nodded and stood up. She spread her arms apart. "The house is yours to use it. I wish I could have offered more."

Harry walked over to her. He was not the same boy she had seen leave their house years ago. He had changed everything from his demeanor to the black Armani suit he wore. Everything was different except his eyes. His eyes were still the bright green eyes of Lily Potter. She cried again and pulled him into a tight hug. "I loved your mother you know," she whispered in his ear.

"I know," he said returning the hug.

A loud bang interrupted the tender moment. Harry jerked back from her quickly; Luna was already standing. He beckoned towards the front door, and Luna waved her hands on a complicated pattern. Hot blue flames leaped from her palms and spread over the door, turning it an unnatural pale blue. "That will only hold them for a moment Harry," she warned.

"What's going on?" Petunia asked frantically. Her fear of magic was quickly returning.

Harry ran from the room, pulling his aunt with him. He pushed her towards the stairs. "You must hide. That noise was the Task Force trackers breaking through my wards. You have to hide. When they find you, I will be gone. You should be safe then." She took one last look at the two of them, nodded, and ran up the stairs.

Harry turned back towards the front doors; the fire ward was failing. He closed his eyes and folded his hands together before his chest. His sense extended to the wizards on the other side of the door. Their magic flowed with direction and purpose. Below the blankets of their mortal magic, he could feel the chaos of their magical cores. He latched onto the sensation and opened his body to the sudden influx of power. He allowed the door to break.

Several armored wizards ran into the room, weapons drawn. The black obsidian armor they wore, while completely flexible, negated magical spells. The International Confederation of Magical Peoples had discovered it thirty years earlier while experimenting with magical containment spells. Five years later they had discovered new uses for glass-like obsidian. The result had been highly trained and dangerous magical soldiers defended by pliable, magic resistant armor. They began using reductor spells cased in bullet-like apparatuses for assault rifles and handguns.

One of the trackers had a white star on the forehead of the helmets they all wore. He stepped forward with his assault rifle pointed at Harry's chest. A thick visor covered the front of the helmet and shielded his eyes. They rarely used wands. Some of the soldiers were probably even squibs. "Mr. Potter, you are surrounded. You and Miss Lovegood are under arrest for crimes against the International Confederation of Magical Peoples.," the tracker said. The voice transmitter made his voice deep and scratchy.

The soldier had not lied. They definitely surrounded, but Harry Potter did not have a reputation of giving up easily. His eyes snapped opened; they had turned solid black. Before the trackers could react, he had held his arms straight out. Blue and white streaks of electricity shot from his finger tips and blasted four of the wizards through the wall. There were still two remaining, but a wave of fire from Luna had them slumped against what remained of the wall.

"Not bad," Harry whispered to her. The government had forgotten a few things in their excitement about the obsidian armor. While the main component was magic resistant, it was extremely susceptible to the natural elements as it was a combination of those elements that created it. In addition, soldiers using it tended to become complacent. They forgot that every spell is energy. While they do not feel the effects of spells, they are not prepared for the backlash when the spell breaks. A strong enough spell will throw the soldier off balance or even on their back. This effect would be amplified should the spellcaster be using soul magic to boost the power of his or her spells. Unfortunately for the trackers, no one had told them Harry could use such magic, and they found themselves lying on their backs in Number 4's yard experiencing great deals of pain.

The trackers' reinforcements opened fire on Luna and Harry as soon as the dust cleared enough to get a shot. The problem with new redactor bullets was they were hard to block. Two, the casing was blockable by a shield, but when the spell broke, it, like spells against the armor, had a backlash that weakened the shield spell. While a typical shield could handle several spells, one could handle no more than two or three high speed, blunt impacts plus accompanying spell backlash. So it took all Luna could do to block the incoming bullets. After a few seconds of keeping up two fire wards, she was starting to sweat. She would not be able to hold out against the onslaught very long. It felt as they must have at least twelve guns firing.

"Go," she told Harry through gritted teeth. "Finish this. I will hold them off."

Harry turned and ran down the hallway. He yanked the door to the cupboard open. Of course his old bed was gone, but the drawings he made were still on the wall. He sat down against the boxes and old clothes packed tightly in the room. He closed his eyes and reached out to the traces of his magical signature. Amazingly they were still there though only slightly. It was what he had hoped for. The amount of blood he had shed in this room had conserved his magical presence. He reached up to the many drawings on the wall. He traced the drawings with his fingers while muttering something in ancient Egyptian. When he felt the connection to his younger magic establish, he pulled a knife out with his free hand. Slowly he brought it to his neck. He stopped muttering. The drawings glowed green for a moment. He drove the knife into his neck and pulled. Blood poured from his cut throat.

The pain was unbelievable. Magic seared through his body and from the blood leaving his body. He had to continuously cut with the knife as his soul magic was rapidly healing the open wound. He felt his magic resist, but he pushed against it, overriding the survival instinct. Darkness took over, and he became lost in a rush of magic. His last thought was Luna.

Luna felt the spike in magic, and the new ritual was finished. It had been a long time since she had felt sadness over someone leaving, but it was suddenly there. Exhausted, she allowed the fire wards to drop. The bullets hit her, and she was thrown to the ground, blood flying everywhere. She was comforted when she felt Harry's magic wash over her as her own faded away. Dying didn't seem so bad.

**A/N: Enjoy.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Time Begins Again**_

**Chapter Two**

Harry woke up to a sharp rapping on wood. "Get up! Up!" screeched the irritating voice of his aunt. "You have to cook the bacon! You better not let it burn. I want everything perfect on my Duddykins' special day.** "**

He groaned loudly at the annoying woman. "Nothing but the best for Dudley," he thought to himself without really considering his surroundings. Suddenly, his world came crashing down. The memories of the knife and the magic came back to him. All of the emotions and experiences of the past century flooded his mind. His connection to his magical core flared to life, and he once again could sense the energies around him, though it was somewhat dulled. He had been afraid that would be the case. Certain less-than-pleasant rituals had to be preformed to restore his magic.

"Boy, get up!" his aunt's grating voice screeched impatiently.

Harry looked around the cupboard. He would not allow such a series of unfortunate events to repeat themselves. That in itself would be a crime. Grasping the door knob, he turned it and pushed. Petunia Dursley's horse-like face greeted him on the other side of the door. He could not help but grimace at the sight of it. The trade-off of seeing her was almost not worth going back, almost. He pushed through the door and out of the cupboard. She swatted at him and shouted, "About time you good for nothing freak!"

That was a mistake and the first of several they would make that morning. Harry's grabbed her wrist and turned his head to face her. "Do not do that Aunt Petunia," he whispered dangerously. He released her arm; bruises were forming from his magically increased grip. Her eyes were wide with shock. "You will go to the kitchen and wait for me."

She backed up against the wall, watching him and nodding quickly. Pushing off the wall, the skinny woman almost ran down the hallway. He smiled as he watched. She was afraid. Fear was something he had learned a lot about. Even the strongest person was afraid of something. The trick was to discover what that fear was and exploit it. People like the Dursleys were easy. They feared everything. That's why they wanted control so badly. Their fears and insecurities needed to be expressed in order to escape them. Harry felt the brunt of their expression through their abuse and bullying. That would stop now, but he would not let them off easily. They would suffer for the many years of torture and last mental impressions it had left. His pain would be theirs.

"What's wrong dear?" he heard his uncle ask from the kitchen. His wife mumbled a reply. A chair scraped on the tile. Vernon was in the hall a moment later. His large face had already turned a dark shade of purple. "What do you think you are doing you little freak?"

Harry smirked at the overly large man. Dudley was peeking around the corner; Vernon had the boy's Smeltings stick. He walked down the hall, smacking the stick in his palm. Had it been any other eleven year old boy, they would have run in fear at the gargantuan blob stalking towards them. As it was, Harry Potter was not an eleven year old boy. He was a 120 year old death mage capable of ripping his uncle apart without moving a finger; fear was not in his vocabulary.

A white, hot wave of energy collided with Vernon, knocking him to his back. The big man screamed as blisters boiled up on his skin. Blood and puss leaked from them, giving off a horrible smell of decaying flesh. He moaned in pain, unable to struggle to his feet despite his efforts to do so.

Harry walked over to the groaning man. His small, eleven year old frame was dwarfed by Vernon's gigantic girth, but he did not have a problem when looking down at him. "Uncle, uncle, uncle," Harry taunted sadistically, "you have really messed up. Tell me Uncle Vernon, when a one year old baby comes to your doorstep, how could you think that such a poor, innocent child was a freak of nature? How could you refuse love to a helpless baby that had never even harmed another soul?"

Vernon only moaned in response. Harry wanted answers, and the fat oaf was not going to get off that easily. He kicked him hard in the groin. The man curled into a fetal position and threw up. "Answer me you overgrown piece of hog shit!" His uncle said nothing. "Answer me!" Harry screamed. Blue and white streaks of electricity flew from his fingertips and connected with Vernon's skin. He closed his eyes, relishing in the sounds of his uncle's screams. The smell of burning flesh did nothing to calm him. It only fueled his anger as he remembered all the abuse he had suffered under the man's hands.

Harry stopped and knelt beside Vernon. His face showed no emotion. All Vernon could see was the power in his dark green eyes. Suddenly, they turned completely black. Vernon urinated on himself. "Now uncle, I will ask again. How could you do such a thing?"

"We did not want you." the fat man managed to reply.

Harry laughed loudly. "You mean to tell me that because you did not want me, you stuffed me into a cupboard under the stairs?" he kicked his uncle in the groin again. "You refused to feed me for days when I did things that I could not explain, because you did not want?" He kicked Vernon's face. The man's nose cracked loudly. "You did not want me, so you told me my parents were drunks and constantly reminded me of the freak that I you named me!"

He stepped back and allowed the living energy in the room to fill his body. The lights flickered as the electrical currents responded to the sudden increase in magic. "I assure you that you do not know freaky. You have yet to see what a true freak can do!"

"Stop!" Petunia's shrill yell brought him back to reality. She was standing near the kitchen door clutching a knife. She held it in front of her like a sword. Had it been any other time, she might have been comical. "This is why we did not want to take you in!" she screamed. "We knew what you could do. We knew what all of you could do! We were not going to allow that to happen to our Dudley. We were not going to allow a monster like Voldemort come in and kill us like he had my parents and sister. Did you think I did not love them? Did you think that I did not care my only sister had been killed by magical spells and potion. I did! I am not going to let that happen to us without a fight!" she finished. She was shaking in fear, but determination was etched in every line on her face. "So if you are going to kill us then do it now. We knew it would eventually come to this."

Harry stared back at his aunt. This time he was the one in shock. Never in all his years could he have expected those words. He had just assumed they were horrible, evil people. He never even considered that their actions were driven by their love for one another. They had legitimately feared he would turn on them. The most magic they had seen had been the destructive magic that had killed his grandparents and Lily Potter. It was no wonder they feared him so much.

He looked at Vernon's bleeding and bruised body. Without medical attention, it was doubtful the man would survive the night. Harry had caused that. In his anger he had tortured the man, wanting him to suffer. In that moment he had been no better than everything he had fought against. He was just as bad as Voldemort and even the Dursleys. His own hate had blinded him.

Harry closed his eyes. He allowed the built up energy to slowly leave his body and flow into Vernon. The man's blackened, blistered skin began to heal itself, and the bones in his nose painlessly snapped back in their right order. His breathing slowed, and his vision returned. "Get up," Harry told him. Cautiously, unsure whether or not he could walk or even stand, he pulled himself to his feet. He backed away from Harry warily.

"You two have made me suffer for far too long. After today, I will no longer be a concern of yours. I will be leaving yours lives forever and will not contact you again. Go to the kitchen and wait for me," Harry ordered.

The Dursley's complied, Petunia's bout of courage forgotten. Harry returned to his cupboard and sat on the raggedy cot. Why should he feel guilty? Why should he care if the Dursleys received a little of what they had given him? He had earned that right. He shook his head violently, chasing the thoughts from his mind. It was thoughts like that, thoughts dark and self-serving, that had given rise to Lord Voldemort. After all, Tom Riddle was once a lonely, bullied orphan too. Tom Riddle had also been forsaken by the world.

Harry sighed and leaned forward on his knees. He held his head in his hands and rubbed his temples in a way that an eleven year old should never have to. Luna was the one who normally kept him in control. She had become his saving grace when he had discovered his ability for soul magic. Had it not been for her, the magic might have driven him mad or even killed him. It was the nature of the power. It was strong and unlimited. Most new vampires became addicted to it and went insane within their first 100 years.

Harry was lucky to have ever used it. When he had been hit with the Killing Curse in the final battle against Voldemort, he had in all senses of the word died. When he awoke, his magic was split between life and death, similar to the process of creating a magical vampire. As such, his magic recognized him as undead and a connection to death was formed. It had taken the elves several days to explain that to him. Really, though, it was only theory. He was the first living mortal to have been able to use soul magic beyond a small bit of necromancy.

The seductive power hit Harry hard. He had a lot of regrets and resentments pent up inside. Soul magic gave him all he needed to settle a lot of scores. He went on a rampage. Several unexplained murders began popping up involving former deatheaters or other dark supporters. They were not pretty. Most showed signs of torture before they had been slowly, systematically cut up. The Malfoys had been the worst. Lucius Malfoy's head had been found on a spike on their fireplace mantle. A look of pain and fear was still frozen on the man's face. Harry had done them all in a state of drunken grief and rage.

It was then that the elves had come for him. No one had attributed the murders to Harry, but they knew. The High Elves had been watching him sense he entered Azkaban. They had sensed the presence of a death connection and waited to see what would develop. Initially, they had taken him with the intention of killing in order to ensure his unusual powers did not spread to other mortals. They feared that humans, more than any other race, had the ability to create a magical army strong enough to enter and conquer their realm. Luckily, Luna had talked them out of it. Somehow, she had been allowed to enter Elven realm and learn from them. Harry was not completely sure but felt it best not to ask how. He did not always enjoy Luna's answers.

She had been there for him in his time of despair. When he had no one else, Luna had been his partner and confidant for over fifty years. Now he was without her. She had died so that he could fix everything. It had been their obsession for the past ten years, and now all her trust and hope had been placed in him. "I'm not sure I can do this alone," he said aloud. Instantly a wave of calming magic spread over him that was undoubtedly Luna's magic. Could it be? Could she have returned with him? Startled, he looked around the cupboard frantically before running into the hallway. "Luna?" he called, allowing his magic to spread through the house. He did not feel a response. He hung his head sadly. It had just been a memory, an echo of her magic.

Harry sighed and walked towards the kitchen. He would not let himself lose control again. The task he had accepted was too important. Too much relied on him maintaining his self-discipline. He turned into the kitchen only to find an empty table and four empty chairs. The Dursleys had apparently taken advantage of his momentary distraction and fled. No doubt, they would be almost out of Little Whinging by now. Well, it was not how he intended to be free of them, but he supposed it would work. Now that they were gone, he had no reason to stay around. Taking a last look at the cupboard, he headed out the front door. He did not expect to see an auror squad waiting in the front lawn, their long purple robes clearly out of place in Surrey. After being on the run for so long, his first reaction was to run. Of course the sight of a preteen boy in oversized faded clothes was hard to miss in broad daylight.

Harry ignored the shouts for him to stop. He threw himself over the three foot brick wall that divided Number 4 and Number 5. The unfortunate thing was that without a wand he could not cast an invisibility charm. Sure, he could make himself disappear, but that would clue them in to him being able to do magic without a wand. He didn't want to give them any more information than he already had. He should have known the Ministry would have detected the use of so much soul magic in a muggle home. Usually that meant a new vampire had gotten out of control and the Vampire Lords were too busy to notice or didn't care. It was usually the latter.

Without the option to use magic, Harry pushed off the ground and sprinted towards Number 5's backyard. He climbed over the chain-link fence and rounded the corner of the house. He knew the neighbors had a large dog that did not like strangers. Picking up a rock from the garden, he threw it through the glass window. He reached his arm through the opening and unlocked it. Pushing the window up, he climbed through. He heard the dog barking. No sooner had he broke into the house, the aurors had knocked down the back door. This escape was beginning to get very difficult.

He ran from room to room quietly. The dog had charged the aurors and was currently occupying their attention. "Stun it!" someone yelled. He could not help to laugh as he slipped out the front door. No matter what time period he was in, aurors appeared to be just as incompetent in them all. Harry did not look back as he ran across the street to Mrs. Figg's. He knocked on the door, putting a fake smile on his face. The life of a fugitive required him to be a good actor at times. This life would require similar skills if his plans were going to succeed. He had to keep his identity a secret to start with; otherwise, some of the more manipulative and cunning aspects of magical society might be inclined to put an end to the threat that someone of his power posed.

Mrs. Figg opened her door, and he was greeted by the overwhelming smell of used cat litter and stale tea. "Hello Harry dear," she said sweetly. Her smile showed off all her yellow stained teeth. Harry thought he smelled tuna on her breath.

"Hello Mrs. Figg," he said with fake sincerity. "Umm, could I use your phone?"

Mrs. Figg's smile turned into a frown. "Whatever for dear?" she asked.

Harry adopted a look of confusion, his demeanor instantly changing to that of a scared little boy. "I think something bad has happened. Four men in robes were in my front yard. They made weird lights and talked funny and waved these thin sticks that made colors. I can't find my family anywhere," he exclaimed frantically. The older woman ushered him in quickly. Before shutting the door, she looked both ways and caught a glimpse of the aurors.

Harry was already gone when she turned around. He sprinted to the den. The fireplace was already lit, very strange for the summer months. He grabbed the floo powder off the mantle. The fire glowed green from the magical powder. He stepped in the fireplace and shouted, "Gringotts!" As the green flames surrounded him he saw Mrs. Figg run into the room. "Harry no!" she shouted, but it was too late. He disappeared in a puff of fire and smoke. With any luck, she would think it had been an accident. He didn't need Dumbledore catching onto his plans so soon.

Harry rolled out of the fireplace and landed in a crumpled heap. The Gringotts goblin looked down on him in clear disgust. "Welcome to Gringotts, how may I be of assistance sir?" the goblin asked in clear displeasure.

Harry stood up and dusted the soot off his clothes. No matter how magically or physically powerful he got, there were some inadequacies that he could not make up for. A person had to have some small amount of inherent grace to master floo travel. When it came to inherent grace, he had none unless he was on a broom suspended fifty feet or more in the air.

He turned to the goblin and returned its glare with one of equal animosity. He hated goblins. During his fugitive years the goblins had locked all his funds and prevented him from accessing his properties. Had Luna not used her status as Lady Lovegood to verify his claim to nobility and regain access to his vaults, he would have been impoverished. Antiquated wizarding banking laws allowed nobility to access to their vaults and properties no matter what their crimes. It was a stupid, outdated law, but it had worked in his favor. When he had arrived at the bank, Griphook, the first goblin he had ever met, stabbed him with a poison dagger. Gringotts had lost a lot of gold due to the plague. With no new magical population to draw business from, the bank had been on the edge of collapse, and goblins were good at holding grudges. Harry barely survived the poison, and even after he was stabilized, he was unable to walk for two months.

"My name is Harry Potter. I am here to invoke the Rite of Avalon," he replied with absolutely no humility. The goblins would not be tricking him out of his vaults this time. The Rite of Avalon, he had later learned, was an ancient blood rite cast between wizards and goblins. Basically, it allowed the wizard access to all his accounts through a blood test. The rite could not be refused to any wizard if the wizard asked for it. Unfortunately, only a few knew about it as it had not been used in over 900 years. It had been set up by the Council of Avalon when the original accord with goblins had been agreed to. The Council knew that the goblins would eventually revolt due to their extreme dislike of humans. They needed a guarantee that ensured their valuables were protected and could always be accessed.

Needless to say, the sarcastic goblin was very surprised. He stood in front of Harry with his mouth hanging open, unsure what to do. "Come now," Harry continued. "I don't have all day."

Being spoken down to was not something a goblin was accustomed to, much less being talked down to by an eleven year old human. It was offensive enough to break him out of his stupor. He sniffed smugly and replied, "Of course sir. I will need to get my supervisor."

Harry did not agree. The protocol of the Rite required him to be guaranteed immediate safe passage. "Marcaunon eneth nin. Lasto!" Harry commanded.

The goblin stopped in his tracks. He turned around to face Harry, eyes narrowed in rage. "You dare speak the language of the Elves in these halls mortals?" he asked. The goblin had tried to sound intimidating, but he only managed to stutter the words out, making Harry laugh.

"Indeed I do little goblin," Harry replied, allowing his eyes to fade in color to a bold black. "You will listen to me now. I invoke the Rite of Avalon. Take me to my vaults."

The goblin took an involuntary step back. Harry was letting his true power show, not the mortal magic. The temperature in the lobby dropped noticeably. "Well?" the wizard asked.

The goblin bowed slightly in defeat. He did not know who Harry was, but he was positive he did not want to get on Harry's bad side. One thing was sure to him; the boy wizard was not what one expected at first sight. This skinny child was definitely no mortal. Without another word, he led Harry to the Potter vaults.

The trip to the vaults went without incident. Harry had intended the trip to go smoothly. Between the small bit of soul magic, the high elvish, and the Rite of Avalon, he had completely confused the goblins. He had no doubt that his goblin escort was itching to be free of him so Lord Ragnok could be notified of the strange human. Before the day was out, a price would be placed on any information pertaining to Harry Potter. That was why he decided that now was the best time to make a few business ventures. If he waited too long, the goblins might decide he was an enemy whose money needed to be disposed of. He could not hide behind the Rite of Avalon forever.

According to his inventory, he had 100,000 galleons in his trust vault. That amount had to last him through all seven years of Hogwarts. Fortunately, he had a unique knowledge of the future. He scooped up around 1,000 galleons. He would invest the rest of it in the Nimbus Broom Company. The Nimbus 2000 would debut in less than a month and their stocks would soar.

"Man eneth lin?" Harry asked his escort, using Elvish just for spite. He really did not like goblins. His time with the elves had only helped to foster that dislike.

The goblin narrowed his eyes. "I am called Orin, matueerz," he answered, almost spitting the last word.

It meant mortal. Harry recognized that Black Speech. Goblins did not usually use their ancient tongue. Since the end of middle-earth and when they had been exiled from the Elven realm, they had only used Gobbledegook, a mix of common and dwarven. For the goblin to use Black Speech when addressing him meant he was seen as a threat. He should consider that a compliment as goblins rarely considered wizards as more than a nuisance. He also considered it a warning, one he took heed of.

"I would like to invest the other 99,000 galleons in a company call Nimbus Broom Company," he said.

Orin merely nodded and muttered a few words in Gobbledegook. The gold disappeared. "Will that be all sir?"

Harry confirmed the transaction was complete and walked back to the mine cart. Orin followed muttering under his breath. Harry snorted in reply. The cart shot forward at a faster than normal pace. His stomach turned loops, and he was almost sick. The goblin sneered smugly at the small victory.

When they got out of the cart, Harry's legs almost buckled under him. Steadying him against the wall, he took a few unsure steps towards the door. When he finally entered the lobby, he immediately wished he hadn't. The passage back to the vaults sealed itself behind him. He tried to turn but several goblins leaped on him, snapping magical restraints on him. He struggled, but they were elemental bindings that held him.

In the center of the lobby, surrounded by twelve armored guards, there stood the imposing figure of Ragnok, High Lord of the Goblin Nation. For all intents and purposes, he was there king. The goblin leader was smiling darkly at Harry. "Welcome to Gringotts Mr. Potter. I am afraid you will not be leaving here quiet as easily as you escaped the aurors."

"Lord Ragnok," Harry started, being sure not to use Elvish, "I did not know that the Goblin King made visits to an everyday customer like myself." Something had gone horribly wrong. Aurors were one thing, but the goblins had almost killed him before. This time he did not have an advantage. They had recognized his powers and bound him with the elemental magic before he had seen it coming. He mentally cursed himself. It was stupid to taunt Orin and let his guard down.

Ragnok nodded at the goblins on either side of Harry. They bodily lifted him by both arms and placed him in front of the goblin lord. The powerful warrior sneered menacingly at the eleven year old wizard, baring his large, sharpened teeth. "It is not every day that a death mage walks so willingly into the public eye. You could say I was curious to see who had triggered the bank's soul wards yet was not a member of the undead. It was a great shock to see that the death mage was in fact a well known eleven year old wizard. So tell me Harry Potter, how is it you have triggered my soul wards?"

Soul wards! Of course, he should have known that there were going to be some sort of soul wards. The goblins were enemies of the vampires. That was probably how they had detected him so quickly in the past as well. He should have thought about that, but Luna was normally the one who planned for the surprising details that frequented his travels.

"I do not know sir," he replied, trying out the innocent kid routine. It had worked on Mrs. Figg.

The back of Ragnok's hand hit hard on the side of his cheek, making him spit blood. The fire light lighting the bank dimmed drastically in response to the goblins' battle magics flaring to life. "Do you take me for a fool?" asked the goblin leader. "I am Ragnok the Bloodthirsty, Lord of the Goblin Nation. Do not toy with me boy or your head will rest on a pike for all those who would defile my halls!"

Harry looked back at the Goblin, anger boiling in the depths of his black eyes. A bruise was already forming on the side of his face, and he believed his jaw might be broken. He could not die here, not now. Reaching outwards with his senses, he tried to pull energy to him. The elemental bonds struggled to contain him, but they succeeded and he collapsed to his knees in exhaustion. The goblins laughed loudly.

"Foolish mortal, you do not understand your own magic. The elemental power is binding your senses, preventing you from drawing energy. It will take more than one mage to break through them little boy," Ragnok taunted. The goblin kicked forward, hitting Harry under his chin and throwing him on his back.

Harry groaned in pain. He tried to right himself but could not. His groaning only made the goblins laugh more, but they had underestimated him. The bindings blocked him from drawing energy from the outside, but they did not block magic powered by his own soul or his mortal magic. Thanks to his time in Azkaban, he had learned to channel mortal magic wandlessly. If he were right, the bindings did not prevent energy from leaving him.

"My, my, you are foolish. Enough of these games human. Now tell me why you entered my bank and how is it you know the speech of our greatest enemies!" Ragnok yelled.

"Lift me to my feet please," Harry managed to mumble out through the blood.

Ragnok nodded at the goblin warriors again, and Harry was lifted to his feet. Before the goblin leader could say anything else, Harry muttered, "_Imperio." _One of the goblins carrying him was hit by the spell and quickly released the bindings.

Power flooded his body, healing his injuries quickly. His physical strength and speed was greatly amplified and he easily threw off the two goblins holding him. He reached out and pulled at the energy around him. He channeled it threw his own body and sent a concentrated burst of magic out his palms and at the other goblins.

Ragnok was too fast for him. The goblin jumped out of the way of the magic and rushed at Harry, a sword pulled out. The goblin lord swung low and hard, causing Harry to somersault backwards. Before Harry could land, the sword was coming back at him. The wizard threw himself to the ground, but it was too late. As he lay on the floor of the bank, Ragnok lowered the blade to his throat. A deep gash was running across his chest, blood freely flowing from it.

"You impetuous fool, did you think I was so unprepared? We have been battling your kind for millennia. The undead have fought against goblin kind since before your wizarding world began. You will not be the one to bring us down," Ragnok boasted. He pushed the blade into the skin of Harry's neck. "I could kill you now so easily, fortunately for you, I have better uses for you."

The goblin pulled his sword back and reached down to pull Harry up. He ignored the boys painful protests as he yanked hard. "The uses of which I speak will start with you telling me how you came to be young death mage." It was not a question or a request.

"And what makes you think I will comply and not kill you?" Harry asked with more confidence than he currently possessed. For all his considerable skills, Harry had never dreamed of taking on the goblin lord.

The ancient goblin was over three thousand years old. He had seen more battle and gained more power than almost any other living being. He was a Patriarch, one of the Great Ones who had forged the Magical Realms into what they were today. Harry could act bold, but when it came down to a decision, he would do all he could to avoid fighting with the ancient.

Ragnok looked towards the goblin warriors who were just beginning to regain consciousness. "Leave us," he ordered them. They responded with a bow and exited the bank corridor. When they had gone and the door was shut, Ragnok spoke again, this time quieter than before, "Because I know you are not an eleven year old boy."

Harry was immediately on his guard. He readied to defend himself should the goblin lord attack. He took a step back with his right foot and braced his body with magic. Before Ragnok could blink, Harry had a sword radiating of black energy in his hand. "I would like to take my leave now Lord Ragnok."

The goblin laughed aloud, startling the wizard. "Did you learn nothing? I do not fear your soul magic boy. Do you not know what power my kind wields?"

Harry did not know. When he had been with the elves, he had heard the stories of ancient battles over the realm of middle-earth. The elves, dwarves, and humans had risen together to fight the threats of Sauron the Necromancer and his legions of followers. Among them had been the orcs and goblins. According to the elves they had been a cowardly race though bloodthirsty. They were descendants of the High Elves, but had been twisted by dark magics.

"It is not matter here," he said, dismissing Harry's threatening stance. "I assure you that you will find this mutually beneficial."

Harry did not relax. "Gone on," he replied suspiciously.

The goblin lord grinned a very ugly and disturbing grin. "You are Harry Potter, the Heir-Apparent to the House of Potter, but I am willing to bet that you do not know of your mother's ancestry."

"She was a witch from a long line of squibs. What does that have to do with this?" he snapped.

"Watch your tone wizard," Ragnok snarled.

Before Harry could react, the goblin lord had him pinned against the wall by his neck. He gasped for air, but the goblin's iron grip was too strong. He tried to call on his magic, but his concentration was broken by the lack of oxygen.

"This is twice I could have ended you Harry Potter. You will not survive a third time," Rganok threatened. He threw Harry to the ground, ignoring the loud snap of bone that echoed through the bank hall. "As I was saying, I have sensed the death magic on you. What's more is that you have the elf-touch. Your mother's heritage makes this even more interesting."

Harry groaned on the ground, but he was listening. He mentally cursed himself for again angering the goblin. He should have known better, but he was not good at controlling his temper. Luna was usually there to help with that particular aspect. The soul magic was consuming and power hungry. It fueled his emotions with anger and rage that were often mixed with self-serving thoughts and ideals. Most death mages were either insane or arrogant. Luna had kept him grounded, reminding him of his own flaws. Without her, things would be much harder, but he had little choice.

But what could the goblin be talking about? His mother had no special magical inheritance. He had checked when Luna had vouched for him after he escaped Azkaban. "My mother's family was an average one, nothing special. My ancestors were teachers and scholars."

"Yes they were. Your mother was the descendant of ancestors and teachers, one of who was a great teacher of times past. They were children of Mithrandir, one of the first of the Magical People. You are the descendant of a Patriarch," Ragnok said.


End file.
